Spence or the girl had opened the curtains, so he could see Carver trotting toward the tall, graceful bamboo stalks that swayed in the breeze another hundred feet ahead of him.
Kapak dived onto the bed and rolled to his side to tug open the drawer of his nightstand. He grasped his pistol, nudged the safety off with his right thumb, then did two rolls in the other direction so he would arrive at the window-side of the bed. He swung his legs to get his feet on the floor. Carver was still visible through the nearest of the twelve-foot double-pane windows, and still in possible range. Kapak sprang to his feet and reached for the window latch, but was overcome by a wave of dizziness from all the rolling. He leaned against the wall to steady himself. He knew there wasn’t enough time left to get the big window open, so he took aim at Carver’s back through the glass and fired as Carver disappeared among the twenty-foot bamboo stalks.
Kapak watched as the hole he had blown through his bedroom window seemed to move. His vision wavered a little as cracks shot upward to the top of the window frame and big shards of glass dropped toward the floor.
Kapak stepped back just before the first shards hit the sill and the floor and shattered into a large number of sharp splinters and fragments. Tiny bits of glass flew, spinning in the morning sunlight to flash rainbows and explosions of reflected brightness as their sharp edges stung his face, neck, chest, belly, penis, testicles, thighs. A few little daggers of glass arced upward off the sill, turning to slash at his shins on the way to the tops of his feet.
“Holy shit,” he muttered.
He heard a noise and painfully half-turned to see Spence shoulder the door inward and drop to his knees beyond the bed, sighting down the barrel of a gun at the tortured flesh of Kapak’s glittering chest.
Kapak dropped his gun on the bed and stood still.
“What the fuck?” Spence seemed to intend it as a question.
Kapak looked in the full-length mirror near the head of the bed. His fat, bulbous body was pocked with single droplets of bright red blood. In the sunlight, he could see his skin was powdered with tiny bits of glass from scalp to toenails. “Look what that son of a bitch did.”
Spence stood up, put his gun in his belt, and approached cautiously. “We’d better get you cleaned up. You’ve got to be at that cop’s office in, like, thirty-five minutes.” He plucked a few shards out of Kapak’s bushy eyebrows. “Maybe you can go into the shower again and try to spray the little bits of glass off you with the heavy jets.”
“Good idea. While I’m in there lay out some clothes for me. But keep your eye on that bamboo grove. I don’t want the bastard coming back just because he heard a gun go off” He waddled carefully toward the master bath. “That’s the way he thinks—like everything’s got to be even.” He went inside, closed the door, and locked it.
Spence looked out at the bamboo grove and saw nothing, then hurried to the closet and collected some clothes for Kapak. On the way back he noticed that there was a trail of small blood spots on the carpet. Kapak must have stepped on a sharp piece of glass and not noticed it yet. He set the clothes on the other side of the bed and went to find the first-aid kit.
3
LIEUTENANT SLOSSER WAS IMPATIENT. Ever since his phone call to Manco Kapak, he’d had a peculiar feeling about this. He was almost sure that he was the first person to mention to Kapak that whoever had been driving his two Hummers last night had gotten into trouble in a construction site downtown. It had been the silences, the first indrawn breath, and then the pauses while the man tried to figure out what to say.
Slosser was not sure whether he had made a mistake in telling Kapak so much. Maybe he should have told Kapak to come to the station for a conversation, and then let the news explode in Kapak’s face so he could watch the reaction. It was Slosser’s job to find out all he could about what was going on in the city, and any insight about something as odd as the ruined Hummers might be a big break.
There was nothing Slosser could do about surprising Kapak now, so he concentrated on what he should do next. He had already awakened Kapak, and Kapak was on his way. Slosser had to keep him off-balance. If he wasn’t here by 9:15, Slosser would dispatch three cars to pick him up. No, make that two. Part of the problem with many of the small-time crime bosses in this city was that they began to think they were important. Make that one car to pick him up, and one to wait a block away unseen, not to move in unless there was resistance.
Slosser was surprised that that the Hummers belonged to Kapak. He had always assumed that Kapak was a crook, but not the ugly, violent kind. He had seemed to be the sort who skimmed cash and understated his income. He seemed like someone who would someday find himself owning a club that wasn’t profitable anymore and would set fire to it for the insurance. He didn’t seem to be the sort who would send people to a construction site after midnight. The only two reasons that seemed to make sense were large-scale theft and extortion, and both seemed to be somewhere outside Kapak’s universe—too gritty and risky for a strip club owner. Slosser had never seen evidence that there was any enmity between Kapak’s company and Veruda Construction. It didn’t seem likely. The Coventry Towers project was a billion-dollar development, and it was only one of about five projects that Veruda had going. They were a herd of elephants, and Kapak was a gnat.
Slosser looked at his watch and felt frustration. It was 8:50, only five minutes since the last time he had looked. He had hoped Kapak would get here early so he could make him wait.
Slosser kept himself from looking at his watch again, and in a few minutes he heard footsteps outside his office door. Owens, his assistant, slapped his palm against the doorjamb once in a military knock and then opened the door. “Lieutenant, Mr. Kapak is here.” He added, “He brought his attorney.”
Slosser kept himself from swearing, but he was aware after a second that his jaw was working, and he was grinding his teeth again. He stood and watched the two men step into his office. The first, he knew, was Kapak. He was a big man in his sixties, with broad shoulders, the thick neck of a fighter, but a paunch that hung over his thin black belt. His hair was still a coal black that made Slosser suspect it was dyed. He had a sour, almost pained look on his face. The second was the attorney, a slight man in his forties with a sallow complexion, pale eyes, and thin, spidery hands that kept fiddling with his Blackberry as he stepped in with his briefcase on his wrist.
“Gentlemen. Right on time.” Slosser turned to Owens. “We’ll use Room Six.” To the others he said, “Follow me.” He set off down the hall, threading his way past the people in the hallway. He got to Room Six and opened the door to let the others in. He was mildly surprised that Kapak had brought his lawyer. In one way it was a gift. It meant he was scared of Slosser, and that meant he was guilty of something.
There was a quiet understanding in the world of police and criminals. When you first pulled them in, you would have a conversation. The suspect would use the time to rat out his enemies, try to strike a bargain, and listen for clues as to how much the police knew. The cop would use the time to try various stratagems—say somebody else had named them as the perpetrator already, or that cops had found the gun, or tested their DNA, or some other lie. Lying was a privilege that had been upheld a hundred times in a hundred court cases. When the suspect got tired of the discussion, he would ask for an attorney. That was the signal he was done talking, and it was time to end the interrogation. Cops seldom asked a question after the subject of attorneys came up, and the suspect tended not to answer any. Slosser looked at the attorney.
“I’m Lieutenant Nicholas Slosser. And you are…?”
“I’m Gerald Ospinsky, Mr. Kapak’s attorney.”
“Oh, yes. I remember the name from Mr. Kapak’s files.”
“Ahh. What files would those be?”
“As you know, Mr. Kapak has a couple of business licenses and liquor licenses, and you filed the papers for him. He’s also been cited for several violations of zoning, parking, nuisance, and noise codes. You responded to several of the complaints. Any other questions before we begin?”
“No”
“Mr. Kapak, could you state your full name, please?”
“Claudiu Vidor Kapak”
“Manco Kapak is a nickname, right?”
“Of course. The first king of the Incas. And the last was named that too.” Kapak shifted in his seat. He looked sick. He seemed to have some kind of skin rash. There were tiny red spots on his cheeks and forehead. He began to lean forward and put his elbows on the table, but stopped himself abruptly as though he had set off a pain. “What did you want to talk about?”
“You have two sport utility vehicles registered as property of Kapak Enterprises, correct? Two
